Aftermath
by Queequg471
Summary: It's much easier to be cruel than one might think...  A collab story.
1. Distress

Chapter One: Distress

_**A man may devote himself to death and destruction to save a nation; but no nation will devote itself to death and destruction to save mankind. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge**_

It was brutal.

Despite knowing (thanks to one Spencer Reid) exactly how much blood the human body contains, it was still a shock to see it splayed all over that Hospital Room. It was supposed to be a building devoted to healing, not hacking up the patients into tiny little pieces for sport and money.

The most disgusting thing about this was that it was a _team_ of three doctors, two nurses, and a janitor.

Emily's boots clacked on the eerily silent linoleum floor as she reluctantly stepped back into the scene. An ear was wedged under the sofa, just sticking out. A hand was floating in the toilet. Emily crouched beside the foot of a child that, judging from the size, couldn't have been two years old. All this for human organ trafficking and the sadistic pleasures of a woman a foot shorter than Emily herself.

Emily had never wanted to commit violent acts as much as she did looking at that tiny foot.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Spencer said behind her, in the same detached voice he spouted statistics with.

"Take it outside," Morgan replied dispassionately, obviously falling behind walls that were just too weak to overcome this level of human destruction.

J.J. had taken one look at the leg that Emily was now kneeling beside, and told Hotch she would be back at the station organizing the locals. She wasn't going to deal with this when she had to go home and throw Henry a birthday party on Saturday.

"The techs are ready to process the scene," Hotch said, only barely stopping to glance at the carnage. "We should get back. The sheriff is going to need help with the interviews."

"How can someone do this?" Emily couldn't help asking, not moving from her position. She was half afraid if she moved, she'd throw up too.

Hotch paused for a long moment, obviously trying to find an answer that would satisfy, and obviously failing.

"I don't know," he responded finally.

"I hope I never do," Spencer intoned, still looking around, categorizing body parts in his head.

"Hey Hotch," Morgan asked, turning around to leave this nightmare. "We already caught the guys."

"Yes."

"So there's no reason that Garcia needs to see these crime scene photos."

"No. There's no reason for that."

Emily forced herself into a standing position, thankfully swallowing down her gag reflex. She passed Hotch on the way out.

"Sometimes, I really wish I could be as detached as you are," she said quietly, no wanting anyone to hear.

Hotch watched her walk a couple of steps out of ear shot, before following.

"No you don't."

Emily threw back another shot of gin, keeping one hand on her beer to make sure she didn't lose track of it. This bar tab was going to kill her budget, but right now, she could barely remember why that would matter. All she could think about was telling the mother belonging to that child's leg that her baby hadn't died quickly. It made her order another drink.

And another after that.

It didn't take long for her to realize that it was time to stop. She may have the weekend off, but Monday would come soon enough, and she couldn't still be drunk.

Keeping one hand on the shot glass, she looked around blearily for the door, trying to remember what direction she would need to leave in. It was behind her, as she soon found out, and she turned back to her drink, bumping into the man who suddenly seemed a lot closer to her elbow than he had been a minute ago. She threw back what she promised herself would be her last drink, and turned to make it out of the bar.

She expected the stumbling and tripping over her own feet, but the haziness and room twirling effect was new. It had been a long time since she'd been this drunk, but that didn't usually happen.

Her phone was in her pocket, which seemed a little too complicated to reach for, and she realized it was because the world was starting to black out.

Before she really had time to process that thought, or scream, or run, or anything, she dropped. She didn't feel herself hit the concrete, but had just enough faculties left to feel the strange arms wrap around her waist before she lost consciousness.

She woke up still in a daze, bleary and confused. She ached in places she wasn't coherent enough to identify, and could barely see beyond her hand. She wanted to reach for her gun, but couldn't find it, so went with the next best option and grabbed her phone. The numbers blurred together, so she couldn't distinguish 911, but pressed a number at random and hoped for the best.

"Hotchner." Oh good. The best.

"Hotch," she mumbled, barely recognizing her own voice. "Help."

She passed out again.


	2. Damaged

Chapter Two: Damaged

Nobody is stronger, nobody is weaker than someone who came back. There is nothing you can do to such a person because whatever you could do is less than what has already been done to him. We have already paid the price. – Elie Wiesel

Apparently, Garcia had no qualms tracking down an agent's cell phone location with no explanation or reasons behind it.

He made a mental note to send her a fruit basket.

The motel was, in a word, a shit hole.

There really was no more refined words that would work to describe it.

It didn't take a profiler to guess that if Emily was in trouble, she'd be in the room furthest away from the office. It also didn't take much effort to guess that the room with the open door would be a good place to start looking.

His gun drawn, he pushed open the door slowly, wondering in the back of his mind why he hadn't called for backup. This was stupid.

The sheets from the bed were scattered all over the room, making it difficult to take a firm step without worrying about tripping. The bathroom door was off it's hinges, as if someone had broken it down to get inside. The only person possibly in the room (no closet space was visible) was the shivering figure on the bed, desperately clutching a dirty, stained pillow.

It was Emily.

Aaron could identify certain points in his life when he could feel parts of himself die. When he worked his first child murder. When he lost his first murder case as a district attorney. When Jason Gideon cracked, and ran. When Haley died, and he murdered a monster with his bare hands.

And right now, in this seedy motel he wouldn't be caught dead in.

"Emily?" he called, fearing the worst.

She flinched, shivering more.

"It's alright, Prentiss, it's Aaron. It's Hotchner, you're safe now."

He wanted to cover her up. He desperately wanted to give her his jacket (one of the only clean pieces of cloth in the room), and help warm her. But her back was striped with what he new to be lash marks, her arms were torn up from rough restraints, likely rope, and there was a long gash in her leg from what looked to be a jagged weapon. He was afraid he'd hurt her more putting course wool over her wounds.

He stepped around the bed to face her, knowing better than to touch her when she couldn't see him.

Then he wished he hadn't, because both her eyes were swollen shut, and it wouldn't help.

"Emily," he repeated, hoping for a response.

"Hotch?" she said, sounding much the way she did on the phone. Scared and fragile.

"Yes," he said calmly, but inwardly rejoicing. At least she recognized him. "I'm here. I'm going to put my coat over you to keep you warm, all right?"

She nodded slightly, or possibly shook a little, but he took it as a good sign and gently wrapped the material around her. He pulled his phone out, intending to call for help (too little, too late), when he heard the sirens in the distance.

He mentally upgraded the fruit basket to a new computer.

Morgan, Reid and JJ met him at the hospital.

"Garcia's on her way, she just had to get Kevin Lynch set up looking for whoever booked that hotel room," J.J. said without preamble. "Rossi was at a conference in New York, he'll be here within an hour."

"Good," Hotch responded, trying to ignore the fact that his shirt was wet with Emily's blood.

"How is she?" Derek asked.

Aaron did not know how to respond.

"She's alive."


	3. Charm and Harm

**Chapter 3: Charm and Harm **

"If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end; if you look for comfort you will not get either comfort or truth only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair." – C.S. Lewis

J.J. was the first to try to talk to Emily. She stepped into the hospital room, not really knowing what to expect (Hotch wasn't talkative at the best of times), but afraid of what she'd find.

She found Emily pulling on Hotch's jacket and reaching for her boots.

"Hey," Emily said, her voice still hoarse, but sounding more like herself. "Fortunately, Garcia brought my go bag from work, so I had a change of clothes."

"That's…" Good? J.J. wasn't really sure.

"Can you drive me home?"

"Wait," J.J. said, hoping she'd heard wrong. But then, this was Emily Prentiss. "Emily, you can't go home yet, okay? You need to stay in the hospital."

"No, it's okay, the nurse took the SAE kit an hour ago. I'm good to go."

"Did the doctor release you?" J.J. asked, in what she hoped was a reasonable and not at all panicked voice.

"The nurse said I was fine, I'll be fine. I'm just gonna go wash my hands and we'll be good to go. Really," she continued, when she saw J.J.'s doubtful look. "I'm fine."

When Emily disappeared into the bathroom, (not closing or locking the door,) J.J. stepped out into the hall and softly called for Hotch.

"She's ready to go home," she said in a low voice, not wanting Emily to hear. Hotch gave her a _look_, then stepped into the room, gently motioning her back.

When Emily stepped out of the room, it pained Aaron to watch her jump back slightly upon seeing him standing in J.J.'s place. Whoever had done this would regret it.

"Get back in bed," he said firmly, in his no-nonsense unit-chief voice. The one only Haley and Jack were ever able to ignore.

"Hotch, it's all right. I just need to get home. I'm fine, really."

"Emily…"

"Stop it, okay. You only call me Emily when you think of me as a victim. I'm fine. I'll just be able to give a better account of what happened if I'm in my own home."

Add one more person to the list who could ignore his tone.

"This is not a debate. You are not leaving this hospital room until the doctor clears you, and furthermore, Garcia and J.J. are staying with you as well."

"I don't need a babysitter," Prentiss raged, deeply offended.

"But you could obviously use a friend. Now get back in bed and try to rest."

He turned away, ready to go track down the animals that dared to do this, when he noticed her hesitating again.

"Emily?"

"I can't just sit here and wait for Dr. Filch," she said, real panic in her eyes and voice.

Aaron froze.

"I have to get home, and try to figure out what happened. I have to do something."

"Emily," Aaron said slowly, carefully. "Dr. Filch is still in Texas, where we left him. He's being indicted for seventeen counts of murder, along with his five cohorts, and the DA is going for the death penalty."

"What?"

"Dr. Filch is from the case we just worked. He was one of the murderers at the hospital in Texas."

"When did we work a case at a hospital in Texas?"

Aaron had to forcefully remind himself that short term memory loss was common (and sometimes helpful) in cases of severe trauma.

"We got home yesterday. We just finished."

"No, that can't be right. I'd remember. The last case we worked was the kidnapping case in California."

"Emily," he tried, seeing the edges of a panic attack creeping in.

"No, I remember because the mother was so happy when we brought her son back!" Emily cried, needing to be right. Why was she remembering a screaming mother, begging her to tell her she was wrong?

"Emily, it's okay. It'll come back…"

"Oh God," she moaned, her breath starting to speed up. She'd lost time. She had no idea what case she last worked, or even what day it was.

"Emily," he said again, becoming really worried now. He didn't want to hurt her, but he grabbed her upper arms anyway, trying to avoid the bruising he knew was underneath her long sleeve shirt. "Emily, look at me. It's all right, just look at me."

"But I don't remember…" she stuttered, her breath dangerously shallow. She looked up with such terror and vulnerability, it broke him all over again.

"I do," he said calmly, firmly. "I'll keep track of it for now. Just look at me and take deep breaths."

Her gaze darted around the room wildly, as if trying to make sense of it, so Aaron gently tilted her head to look at him.

"Look at me, Emily." She did, finally. "It's going to be all right. You're safe here, I promise."

She took deep breaths, calming down. He nodded in approval, grateful she wouldn't need to be sedated. It wouldn't be good for a recently drugged rape victim to need to be drugged every twenty minutes.

"Good. J.J. and Garcia will stay with you…"

"No!" she shouted, still flustered and pale. "Don't…no."

"Emily?"

She took a few deep breaths, visibly taking control back from the panic, and organizing her thoughts in her mind.

"You're a better shot than J.J. And Garcia doesn't even believe in violence or guns. Please. Just…until the doctor leaves. Please stay."

He paused, searching her face. He desperately wanted to start searching, but in truth, Garcia would do more good at the office than he would, and J.J. wouldn't be offended.

"Okay. Just lie down, I won't leave."

Emily had finally fallen asleep, after sitting up suddenly five times to double check that Aaron hadn't left, and she was still safe. Hotch was sitting in the chair beside her bed, holding a magazine so the nurses wouldn't look at him funny for just sitting there. He wasn't even pretending to read it anymore.

"Aaron?" Rossi called from the door, softly so Emily didn't wake up.

Hotch spent half a second wondering why they all reverted to first names at a time like this, but gave up on the thought as too complicated for a time like this. He got up wearily, going to stand next to Rossi while keeping a watchful eye on Emily lest she wake up again.

Rossi's face was stone, in that mask he put on when emotions would be a liability. That meant bad news.

"Thought you might want to see this," David said, without any more intro. He handed Aaron a manila envelope, waiting for Aaron to open it.

The documents inside were of finances that were well over Aaron's head, but he could see very clearly that the numbers tallied at the bottom were not equal when they were supposed to be. The next said showed the same tally, only the numbers did add up, and he knew he was looking at doctored accounts that had money siphoned out.

Government funds.

Under the name Elizabeth Prentiss.

Well hell.


	4. A Shade Of Gray

**A/N: What, no author's note yet? That's MADNESS! So after I finished Near Wild Heaven, I was finally work free for the start of school. Well clearly, that needed to be fixed. So here me and Aimee are with another fanfiction, with another mutally addicting show. **

**I don't know if anyone reads the quotes at the beginning of the chapters, but we are looking for quote suggestions. Anyone who knows any, feel free to PM me!**

**Chapter Four: A Shade Of Gray**

**The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next. **

**Ursula K. Leguin**

"I assume this came with a blackmailer's note," Aaron said, still skimming over the pages. David handed it over to him without another word. Predictable. Tell anybody and it goes public.

So her attackers knew not only Emily, but her mother too. Which begged the question, how did they know what bar Emily would be drinking, on this specific night, with a drug ready and waiting for her.

"So do we tell her?" Rossi asked.

It hadn't even crossed Hotch's mind that he could simply _not_ tell her. He looked at Rossi questioningly.

"If she saw this, in the state of mind she's in right now, she could close up and not help with the investigation. Either trying to protect her mother, or herself. We don't even have her statement yet. We have no idea how these bastards got to her, or if she knew their names, or could identify their faces. If she closes up now, we're at square one."

Hotch processed this silently, watching the still figure on the bed, somehow still tense and small in sleep, as Rossi continued his argument.

"We have to wait until she tells us what happened, so we know where to look. Just to make sure we're not shooting blind."

"No," Hotch said instinctively. He didn't want to wait. He didn't want to tell her at all. She had enough to deal with, enough problems he wasn't fast enough to save her from. He had to _at least_ protect her from this. Protect her from having to admit her mother was a thief. "No, we don't tell her."

Rossi stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, wondering if this was really _Agent Aaron Hotchner_ suggesting they hide crucial evidence from a victim.

"Wait, at all?"

"It will just color her perceptions and memories. Like you said, her mental state…"

David cut him off ruthlessly.

"I said she might be inclined to protect herself and her mother, not that wasn't strong enough to deal with it. This is Emily Prentiss. She isn't an idiot. This gonna come out, whether you want it to or not."

"Rossi," Aaron tried, shaking his head while still looking at the sheets in his hand. "She's just been brutalized in the worst ways that humanity can survive, and now someone is trying to destroy her mother too. We don't even know these documents are real, but to a bureaucrat, just the suggestion could ruin her career. We can't let them do that to Prentiss."

"Are you listening to yourself?" David demanded, getting angry now. "You're actually suggesting we cover this up? That we let what may be millions of dollars being siphoned away from countries needing, really needing this help, go unnoticed? We can't let this continue."

"I'm not saying we do," Hotchner replied, meeting Rossi's glare without flinching. "I'm saying we look into it deeper, make sure these documents are legitimate before saying anything."

"Then we're telling the rest of the team."

"We're not diverting their attention from Emily's case…"

"This is Emily's case!" Rossi hissed in lieu of shouting, still cognizant of the sleeping woman ten feet away.

"David," Hotch said firmly, reverting to his no nonsense voice. "We're going to keep this quiet till we know more."

"Aaron, you know this isn't going to end well."

"Whatever happens, will happen. But I've made my decision, and quite frankly, I wasn't asking for nor do I require your permission. Am I understood?"

David Rossi was not used to being talked to like that.

He wasn't some junior agent who needed to be reminded of the chain of command. He was one of the most well-respected profilers in the country, with speaking engagements and book signings ranging from sea to shining sea. Aaron Hotchner had been a newbie agent underneath him, once upon a time, and he was not used to taking orders he didn't already agree with.

And besides, Hotch usually couched his words to make it more of a partnership and agreement, than superior ordering inferior.

This sucked.

Without another word, because there really were none left to say, David turned and walked away.

Mentally trying to figure out if he should go behind Aaron's back and tell the team – and Emily – himself.

The curtain was drawn around Emily's bed.

Aaron half-wondered when he had given up on calling her 'Prentiss' completely. The phone call, if he was right.

He'd just covered up evidence. He just forced another agent to cover up evidence.

These were lines he'd never crossed before. He'd considered, at one time or another. Working with the most despicable creatures human kind could vomit out, it was only natural to want an easier, faster solution to stop them.

But he'd never done it.

Child murderers and rapists. Mass murderers, sadists, sociopaths, psychopaths, and the _animal_ that slaughtered a _bus_ because he didn't want to make a deal, and he'd never crossed these lines before. He'd found his _wife's_ body (ex or not), a woman he'd loved since college, a woman he would always love. And he hadn't crossed these lines for her.

Why now?

Was it time? Maybe he'd been in this profession too long? The nightmares weren't getting more frequent, but they were getting more intense. The faces were starting to multiply. The faces of all those victims he couldn't save. Couldn't get to in time. All those families whose lives he'd had to rip apart, because he couldn't get ahead of the killer.

But he was alright last week.

It was _this_ case. _These _unsubs.

_This _woman.

Hotch was still sitting in the dark on the other side of the curtain when Emily started to stir. Rolling over, she tried to make sense of the blurry shapes around her.

"Hotch?" she asked, trying to keep the panic down, but not succeeding completely. Alone was bad.

"I'm here," he said quietly, still out of sight. He took a moment to mentally brace himself, because she'd sounded just a little too much like she did when she'd called him from the hotel room for him to be okay with.

"I'm here," he repeated, stepping beside her bed. The look of relief in her eyes, though it would horrify her when she regained her faculties, was just a little gratifying to see.

He liked being the one she called for. He liked being the one who made her feel safe. And he'd do almost anything to feed that addiction. And that worried him, because he'd never been okay with addictions other than the job before.

Hell, he wouldn't even take a weekend off for Haley.


End file.
